Galactic Fist of Legend

by Scottie Futch

  The moans grew louder and Scott cried out, "Oh, you guys!"

  Scott practically pranced as he trotted joyously toward the largest group of the dead. "I missed you too, you silly rotten fucks!"

  Like one of two lovers in a ridiculous romantic comedy, he ran to them happily with his arms lightly extended to the side and his gun pointed lightly to the side. An expression of unadulterated joy writ large upon his face, he cried out, "Daddy's home!"

  He laughed joyously as he casually brought his pistol around and fired. He killed the zombies with great jubilation, as the tears flowed freely. "Oh yes! Yes!"

  The overly excited champion of the Earth finished off the zombie scrubs, and then sighed in contentment. "Man, I needed that," he said. It only took one trip to an instant death platform hopping adventure world to make him appreciate the simplicity of killing zombies.

  "Suppose I should be getting back soon," he said after scouting the area for a short while. He only managed to kill another handful of the weaker zombies.

  The road was a dangerous place to be, but it was nice to be on it. Scott could not think of any place he would rather be at that moment, save for any place outside of the game itself.

  On the way back he occasionally defeated small groups of zombies. None of them were particularly special, or swift. The easy pickings gave him plenty of time to think of the coming trip that he would need to take with the people at the mall.

  He checked vehicles that seemed to be of a proper size for his purposes, but none of the ones that he came across seemed viable. After taking the time to check a small activity bus that he had not seen the first time through the area, he sighed. Some enterprising asshole had stolen the battery and flattened all four tires.

  "Damn, who keeps doing that shit?" Why the hell would someone flatten the tires of perfectly good vehicles? He understood why the batteries would go missing, but why ruin a perfectly good vehicle?

  The more he searched, the closer he came to the conclusion that the people at the mall would just have to make do with the cars in the parking lot. A convoy was not as safe as a single heavy vehicle in some regards, but a decidedly mercenary part of his mind had to admit that he only needed to rescue one person. A convoy made it harder to help everyone, but it improved the chances of his personal victory.

  "Still need a heavy vehicle, though," muttered Scott as he walked past a small clothing store.

  A zombie suddenly appeared and began to rub up against the glass display window. Scott blinked and turned to look at the strange critter. He was probably a former soldier due to the fact that he was dressed in military fatigues. The wandering zombie killer could not be certain whether they were army or air force fatigues, but one thing did stand out. The zombie was wearing thick aviator glasses.

  "Talk to me Zombie Goose," said Scott with a sideways grin.

  The zombie moaned and clawed feebly at the window. Scott laughed morbidly then said, "So, Zombie Goose ... whose butt did you kiss to get in there?"

  Zombie Goose moaned loudly once more, but did not seem to be particularly talkative otherwise. Scott put his hands on his hips and shook his head in a sassy manner. "Hey, Zombie Goose. Ya big stud!"

  Once Zombie Goose moaned again Scott said, "Take me to bed or lose me forever!"

  Expectant of another half-hearted groan, Scott was taken completely by surprise at the sudden occurrence of an overtly feminine giggle. He immediately whirled around and began to scan the area.

  "Oh no, he heard me," said the voice again before another giggle echoed through the area.

  "I should be more care-ful," spoke the voice in a song-like manner.

  "Where are you?" called out Scott. There was little in the way of cover in the immediate area save for a car with flat tires. Unless he could figure out where that voice came from, that bit of cover was useless. It would be horribly comical to get shot in the head while hiding behind a car, all because he did not know that the shooter was behind him.

  "Oh, I'm around... But I really shouldn't be talking to you. I think I need to stop now," said the cheerful song-like voice.

  "I feel the need for a few answers here," said Scott.

  "You sure you don't feel the need for speed there Top Gun?" asked the invisible woman.

  "Sure, but answers first..." said Scott evenly.

  The voice was silent for a time. Scott wondered for a moment if she had left. Just as he was about to try to leave the area she spoke up. "Oh, I really shouldn't..."

  "Yes you should," said Scott evenly.

  She laughed once more then said, "No, no."

  "Yes, yes..." he replied.

  Her laugh echoed through the air once more. "I think I have seen enough now to understand what's going on."

  "What is going on?" he asked her curiously.

  She giggled in response. "Oh, nothing of import to you."

  "Why not tell me and let me be the judge of that?" he asked her with more lightness in his tone than he actually felt.

  She made a thoughtful sounding hum then said, "No, I think not."

  After that she did not speak again, no matter how often Scott called out to her. Eventually he snorted then shot Zombie Goose through the window. Free experience points were always appreciated.

  The area was surprisingly clear of zombies otherwise. Surely, all of the loud talking involved previously would have drawn them out.

  Scott made his way back to the mall. Along the way, he happened across the main highway in the area. Zombies wandered around in small groups due to the numerous cars left abandoned in the area. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Scott finished them off as quickly as possible.

  While he took down the small horde of rotting Americans, he made his way to an overpass. A few more zombies popped up, but nothing he could not handle. Once he finished with the area, he happened to notice a fenced in building off to the side of the road. Curious, he wandered over and checked it out.

  "Some sort of place to store flammable stuff?" The signs on the fence warned people away due to that factor.

  He noticed that the gate was locked. The chances that the place hadn't been looted was high. The number of zombies milling around no doubt kept the looting to a minimum in the immediate area.

  "Could be useful later," he said before returning to the highway.

  Scott spent some time pushing as many cars as he could off the road before he felt the need to move on. It would save time later if the survivors needed to come this way. It was one of the viable routes, after all.

  Once he gave up on clearing the area, he went back to the mall. The horde outside had built up again, but not to a large degree. He casually killed off the shambling idiots that got in his way then called for the ladder. Back up top he filled the survivors in on the important parts of the situation.

  "So, most of the useful vehicles are missing batteries, or have flat tires?" asked Jed.

  "Yes. We are either going to need to just use the cars in the parking lot, or I'm going to have to go hunting in the area once more for a super heavy vehicle."

  "Heavy vehicles... Do they need to be cars?" asked Jed.

  "No, as long as it will run I'd take a bulldozer or something." Scott glanced over the side of the roof and looked down at the pile of corpses and the hundred or so zombies shambling around. "A bulldozer would be great actually."

  "Well, I'm not sure about a bulldozer, but there's a shop a few miles east of here that sells tractors and other things. Sometimes they have big ones."

  Scott's eyes lit up a little, but then they dimmed slightly. "I'll give it a look, but why not tell me before I ran out of here?"

  Jed, shook his head. "I didn't even think of it. You wanted big cars or trucks."

  Annoyance writ large on his face, Scott shook his head. It did not matter. The truth was that he gained something from running around. Instead of arguing, he leaned his head to the side and squinted. "How are things going here? Is everyone packed?"

  "We're about as r
eady as we're going to be," said Jed.

  "Good. I'll check the tractor place. If I find something we can use, great. If not, be ready to get a few people to help me move bodies and bring the cars close to the door," said Scott.

  He then laid out a plan to form the cars into a sort of semi-circle to give the people maximum time to load the vehicles and get inside. He planned to kill off any approaching zombies, but he did not want to risk accidental infections if he could help it. These people were his precious experience points. He would do everything in his power to protect them. There was also the whole bit about wanting to help people in need, and rendering aid to this beleaguered outpost of humanity.

  Scott took the time to put down the zombies scrabbling about the parking lot, before he hopped down and went on his way again. The entire battle, if it could be called such, ended in only a few minutes.

  As always a few zombies could be seen straggling in from various places after the fight, but they took their sweet time about it. Scott ignored them for now and headed off toward the tractor place.

  The directions were simple, but he soon learned that the roads were heavily blocked with abandoned vehicles. Several of them looked as though they had been fire bombed. Scott glanced over to a massive pile-up of cars at the center of one intersection and slowly shook his head. "Damn, probably had more people die in car accidents the first day than from zombie bites."

  Frightened people often became nothing more than screaming primates. Once panic sets in it can do strange things to an otherwise normal human being.

  The better part of three hours was spent searching through the residential apocalyptic wasteland. For a time he thought that he might have passed by the place he sought, thankfully he was wrong.

  Scott eyed the farm supply store critically. Only a few zombies meandered around the area, but something about the situation seemed too easy. Sure, it was probably not the first place most survivors would go to unless they had established some sort of community. The general calm still did not sit right with him.

  He snuck around the perimeter of the area. As he did so, the little hairs on the back of his neck began to stand up. Other than the zombies in the immediate area of the farm supply store, he did not meet a single undead obstacle. It was something he thought to be impossible. He should have stumbled across at least one or two of them in passing.

  It was possible that most of the zombies within a few miles of the mall had already gravitated toward the canned meat inside, but the lack of undead Americans still weighed heavily on his mind.

  Accustomed to things being difficult for him when it came to important events, he found it hard to believe that the situation around his goal would be so lacking in danger. Why did it offer little to no obstacles to overcome? Perhaps he'd seen too many zombie movies, or he'd grown paranoid. It was hard to say, really.

  Stealth was not his best skill, but he made a concerted effort to sneak into the farm supply store's parking lot. During his perimeter search he discovered several locations that he could use as an emergency platform to escape the horde. Of course, the horde consisted of six zombies that only shambled around in little circles.

  A flurry of rapid fire movements took place as Scott worked the area. He mercilessly gunned down the zombies that he found then raced toward the closest raised platform. His platform of choice was simply the top of a dump truck with flattened tires. He panted heavily and looked around from atop the cab of the vehicle.

  His eyes, narrowed and alert, darted around the area. Slowly, he tilted his head to the side then narrowed his eyes further. "Any time now..."

  Several tense minutes passed as he waited for the real horde to magically appear. There were no new arrivals. He'd cleared the outside area of the farm store without any trouble.

  "Well, damn," muttered Scott before he hopped down from his perch. "Guess I just expected more out of this place."

  After a cursory exploration of the area, he learned that all of the vehicles had their tires flattened. However, inside the store he discovered something that made his eyes light up. At the center of the store was a raised platform, and upon that platform he saw the most beautiful sight in the world. It was a large black truck with a snow plow attached to the front.

  Scott searched the store thoroughly for zombies. None seemed to be hiding out anywhere, so he went to check the truck. He read some of the whimsical signs that were strewn about the floor then smirked. The truck was supposed to be a prize for the ten thousandth customer that month. The apocalypse had happened before anyone could claim it.

  Unlike a lot of other vehicles, the tires were not flattened. However, the battery was missing. "Who the hell steals the battery out of a truck with a plow on the front?"

  He checked around the store and found one in the back room that he figured might work. The place had been ransacked a bit, despite his previous thought that few people would bother with the place. While he installed the battery he shook his head. "Why the hell would people steal batteries out of vehicles when there are cases of them in the back?" It was like whoever had done it was trying to be a dick.

  Scott mused about the situation for a few minutes while he installed the battery, but he could not figure it out. Why would someone steal batteries and slash tires? There was no sense to it unless they simply did not want people to use the nearby vehicles.

  Either way, it did not take long to scour the building and find the keys. He cranked his new ride then grinned as the engine roared to life. It was not perfect, but it would help quite a bit if they ran across a small horde of zombies blocking the road. "It's weird that there's gas in the tank, though..."

  It was even stranger that the gas did not go bad from simply sitting in the tank for a few months. After a moment's thought he shrugged and said, "Well, whatever."

  The tractors at the supply store were small, and lacked enclosed cabs. They might have been useful later in life once a small settlement was made, but at the moment they were slow death traps.

  Full of gas, and with numerous items loaded in the back for the future. He was ready to hit the road.

  The truck rolled out of the supply store like it was ready to find a purpose in its life. Scott decided to make a sweep of the neighborhood before heading back to the mall. There had to be other vehicles that were in one piece. It was not plausible to him that every vehicle would have flat tires, or something else wrong with it.

  Chapter 13: Get Hard

  The road back to the mall presented many difficult obstacles to overcome. The sheer number of cars abandoned in the road made the idea of clearing them a difficult task to perform. He could have pushed a few of them out of the way with his shiny new truck. Scott decided against it, however. He needed the truck and plow to be in the best shape possible when the little caravan decided to head out.

  "Damned asshole slashing the tires," muttered Scott as he turned down another side road. The flat tires were the most annoying aspect of the situation. Cars could be pushed out of the way normally. A car with flat tires was just an immobile roadblock.

  Forced to drive a laborious route to get back to the mall, Scott soon became lost. "Shit. You'd think this thing would have a road map in the glove compartment."

  He pulled to a stop at a convenience store in the hopes that he would find a street map. Just as he had done several times before, he checked the area before heading inside.

  Two quick shots in rapid-succession led to the final death of zombified shop clerks. At this point it was ridiculously easy to deal with something as simple as a standard zombie. Scott always took the time to check for dangers after his trials in this rotting world, but the slow moving shamblers were more of a nuisance than anything else for him at this point.

  "Cleaned out..." mumbled Scott as he finished checking the store. Looting had gone on for months. It made sense that people would have picked the area clean while the zombies all went to the mall. Despite the logic of the situation, it still annoyed him. Getting tossed into
a zombie apocalypse after most of the good stuff was looted was so irritating at times.

  Scott spied a map behind the checkout counter after he returned to the front of the building. "Well, at least there's this..."

  He studied the map for a moment, but his quiet moment did not last. Scott nearly leapt out of his pants when he heard a loud ringing sound from nearby. On the counter there was an impossible existence. The sound came from an ordinary office phone that could not possibly be working.

  Curious Scott lifted the receiver and asked "Super Quickshop. How can I help you?"

  A raspy voice breathed heavily on the other end of the line. Scott's eyebrows pressed slowly together as he tried to make out any sign of a voice. Was there a zombie on the other end of the line, or something?

  "Hello?" he asked again.

  "It's mine..." rasped the voice in a deep, frankly terrifying tone.

  "What's yours?" asked Scott slowly.

  "This world... You won't take it back from me..." rasped the voice.

  Scott frowned. What the hell was this? "This world... What makes you think it belongs to you?"

  The voice laughed darkly for a moment then stopped suddenly. An icy voice spoke now. Each word seemed laced with venom and dread. "Champion. If you continue to interfere you should prepare your anus."

  Scott's eyes widened slightly and he silently mouthed the words, "Prepare your anus?"

  The chilling voice spoke again, this time with an obvious smugness in his tone. "The system worlds will be ours. This is your only warning."

  Unable to hide his surprise, Scott asked, "Who are you? Why would you warn me about anything?"

  A hellish shriek erupted from the other end of the phone. Scott dropped it and clutched at his ears. The sound continued unabated for several seconds and his vision began to blur.

  Words, or something like them, echoed menacingly from the phone. It was a strange language, but the strangest thing was that the very air around the mouth piece began to tremble, warp, and almost blister. The moment that the words stopped, the voice spoke in plain English. "You should worry about yourself, Champion." The last word was practically spat out before the line went dead.